


Trading T-Shirts

by jugandbettsdetectiveagency



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, F/M, Fluff, Purely sickening fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 11:49:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12131868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jugandbettsdetectiveagency/pseuds/jugandbettsdetectiveagency
Summary: After an unexpected one night stand, Betty isn't really sure how to return a certain person's shirt.





	Trading T-Shirts

**Author's Note:**

> When people tell you about their amusing predicaments on tumblr, what more can you do other than turn them into a oneshot?

If Betty could have described the sensation emanating from the inside of her skull at that moment it would’ve been somewhere between a dull throb and an uncomfortably persistent humming. It wasn’t what she would consider a full blown hangover but she could already tell, even with only the light filtering through her closed eyelids, that opening her eyes was not going to be a perfectly pleasant experience.

She groaned quietly, burrowing further into the warmth of the sheets surrounding her. Luckily, Betty had never been a particularly heavy drinker; she was well aware of her limits and was loathe to exceed them. Wanting to remain in control of your facets at all times came with the territory when you had been dealing with anxiety for your entire life, and this was merely an extension of those well-practiced habits for Betty. Unfortunately, that also meant that when someone – _Veronica_ , her brain supplied haughtily – managed to sneak a few extra unsavoury cocktails past your normally impenetrable barriers you definitely felt it.  

Betty was already planning a few choice words for her roommate when she got back from her early class later.

It was just as she was mustering up the courage to swing her legs out from beneath the cosy comforter and finally greet the day that two things happened simultaneously. Firstly, her final ditch attempt at soaking up some of the softness from her pillow by burying her nose in the down alerted her senses to the fact that the citrus and sandalwood scent she could smell wasn’t the usual lavender of her sleep-easy fabric softener. And secondly, something _moved_ next to her.

Betty’s eyes flew open, all thoughts of her early onset headache vanishing immediately. There was someone in her room, and not only that but that someone was in her bed. At least, she thought so until she noticed the pillowcase beneath her head was navy blue instead of white with purple daisies. _What the–_

The _someone_ shuffled again, letting out a soft hum that got lost to the sound of cotton on cotton rustling about the air, then everything was silent once again. Betty held her breath, not daring to contribute anything to making a noise while she gingerly turned over in the bed – clearly, not her bed, she’d come to determine – and peered over to her left, lower lip drawn anxiously between her teeth.

She was met with a smooth expanse of olive toned skin, leading up to a mess of dark waves that Betty had resurfacing memories of; more specifically, she was starting to remember what it felt like to run her hands through it while another pair of hands explored the length of her thighs…

Her eyes clenched shut as she swallowed thickly, embarrassment running through her body, and leaving a white hot trail in its wake that made it all the way down to the tips of her toes. She didn’t do this kind of thing! Oh god, what would her mother think? Not that she had any immediate plans for telling her mom of such events, but still, she couldn’t help but think it. A few weeks in and she was already a college cliché. Betty Cooper did not have one night stands with random strangers when she’d had too much to drink. In fact, it was one of the reasons _why_ she didn’t have too much to drink. There was no way in hell she was going to be able to navigate her way out of this situation gracefully, already resigned to the fact that she was going to make an utter fool of herself in front of her ‘hook up’.

Worse than that, she was going to have to deal with Veronica’s teasing remarks and sly looks for who knows how long for not coming home last night _. Perfect_.

As her head continued to clear, the situation having acted like a rather large bucket of ice water down her spine, the memories began to focus in her mind, along with a name and a face to the guy still sleeping beside her.

Jughead Jones. Of course, she had to go and pick a guy in one of her classes – someone that she’d have to see frequently for the rest of the semester. He was in her _Science Fiction_ elective, a relatively small group by the usual standards, so there was even less chance of avoiding him, Betty mused grimly.

They hadn’t spoken much – once or twice when they’d been sat close enough to one another to be put in the same discussion group – and he seemed like the kind of guy that kept to himself. Sure, she’d noticed him (how could you not notice someone with a name like _Jughead_?) because of the way he seemed to try and sink into the furniture while they were in class; dark clothes, a stoic expression, and a strangely endearing crown-shaped beanie were his usual choice of attire. He’d proven himself to be intelligent and very familiar with the content they were discussing, but apart from when he was specifically called upon for an answer he didn’t seem that interested in offering up a contribution. There was one time, Betty recalled, when he couldn’t help himself from interjecting on the matter of troublesome, straightforward definitions of humanity. She’d seen him twitching in frustration as they listened to some middle-class dude spew his public school opinion on the subject, her lips curling upwards at the corners when he’d finally finished internally sparring with himself and spoken out, just to get the guy to shut up.

It was one of the reasons why she’d been so surprised to see him at the party V had insisted she attend last night. He didn’t fit in, she noted upon first spotting him, nursing a red solo cup while leaning against a kitchen counter – the only edge that didn’t appear to be covered in some mysterious, sticky liquid.

“Jughead!” she’d called, taken aback by her own boldness. In all honesty she wasn’t one hundred percent sure what was in all the drinks Veronica had been plying her with; all she knew was that mid-terms were kicking her butt and she deserved a little break. He’d looked up in shock, not expecting to hear his name amongst the noise of drunken students and pounding bass.

“Err, hi, Betty,” he replied tentatively, watching her with cautious eyes as she weaved her way over to him, resting her hip against the counter next to him.

“You remember me?” she blurted out in reply, having expected to need to reintroduce herself to him outside of the classroom setting.

“Beautiful, opinionated blonde in the front row,” he said nodding, and if the light was better inside the dimly lit frat house Betty would almost be convinced he was blushing. “How could I not,” he finished, more to his shoes than to her. She felt a warmth spread through her stomach that was entirely non-alcohol related. She grinned at him, pleased when he returned the gesture with a shy smile of his own.

“So, what are you doing here? It doesn’t exactly seem like your type of ‘scene’,” Betty asked, quote marks evident in her voice. Her eyes darted over to where a raucous cheer had just erupted over by the keg. Jughead watched with barely concealed distaste as the guy who had just recently righted himself let out an impressive belch and high fived his buddies.

“How do you know what my ‘scene’ is?” he replied somewhat defiantly, grimace still in place. Betty giggled as she looked at him over the rim of her cup, raising a challenging eyebrow pointedly. Jughead huffed out a laugh and rubbed at the back of his neck.

“My roommate made me come,” he admitted, lifting a hand to gesture vaguely in one direction. Betty followed his finger and found a muscular redhead on the other end, surprised to find him leaning in close to Veronica as he whispered in her ear and she giggled flirtatiously. Betty rolled her eyes. Well, _that_ part didn’t really surprise her much.

“Mine too!” she said, turning back to Jughead. He smiled again, and damn did he have a cute smile; it was all shyness and dimples, lighting something in the depths of his blue eyes that had a shiver travelling down Betty’s spine. “You want another drink?” Betty asked, nodding to his cup, by way of distraction from the intensifying flush in her cheeks.

Jughead hesitated, glancing at the almost empty cup in his hands for a second before meeting her eyes again, something steely cementing in his. “Sure,” he’d said.

Well, at least now she remembered that she only had herself to blame. She’d still try and pin as much of this as possible on Veronica, though. After all, without V making her go, giving her the first few drinks of the night, and then wandering off to do who knows what with Jughead’s roommate, leaving Betty with nothing to do _but_ talk to the only person she recognised in the room, none of this would have happened. Or so she told herself.

Wincing as the springs popped beneath her shifting weight, Betty clambered slowly out of the bed, no longer as warm and inviting as she’d believed it to be when she woke up. A quick glance at her almost dead phone revealed it to be just before 9am – right in time for her walk of shame to collide with commuter traffic.

Goosebumps rose across her skin when her legs hit the cold air and she glanced down, noting her attire for the first time. She was clad in nothing save the t-shirt Jughead had been wearing the night before. It was a mottled grey in colour, with a large, black S printed on the front. An experimental shift revealed that she was also, indeed, sans panties.

Betty let out a string of curses beneath her breath as she began to search his room, locating her underwear and pants easily enough – thankful that Veronica had relented and let her wear simple, black skinny jeans instead of the ridiculous miniskirt she’d first suggested, on the condition that she wore the skimpy piece of lace her friend had insisted was a bralette suitable to be worn on its own as a top – but only one of her shoes.

She tripped her way into her jeans, cusses growing louder as she limped into one of the bedposts, a solid thud echoing into the room.

“Betty?” Jughead’s sleepy voice startled her, head whipping over her shoulder, tangled hair falling into her eyes. She wrangled her jeans over her hips and lunged for the second shoe she’d just located underneath his desk, hopping ungracefully into the nude heel.

“Jughead, hi. I mean, good morning,” she stammered, suddenly having of a vision of how much of a mess she must look. God knows how far down her face her mascara had slipped in the middle of the night. Still, the manners her mother had instilled in her from an early age refused to be forgotten.

“Yeah, morning,” Jughead mumbled, eyes darting around in a daze as he fumbled for his phone on the bedside table. He seemed to be having trouble meeting her eyes.

Betty sighed, realising the next question she was going to have to ask. She wasn’t exactly the type of girl that was able to so casually carry off the heels with jeans look on an everyday basis but, given the circumstances, that part of the morning could be far worse. If she was lucky, which she wasn’t so sure she was right now, her sunglasses would still be lurking at the bottom of her purse and she could pretend it was a _look_ she was aiming for. Wearing nothing more than a simple bralette at this hour of the morning, however? Yeah, there was no way of working that in her favour.

“Um, Jughead?” she began, nervously twisting the hem of his shirt between her fingers. He looked up at her with clear reluctance, a few unruly curls falling over his eyes in such a way that had more pleasant memories drifting to the surface. Betty shook herself subtly. “Would it be okay if I wore this shirt back to my dorm? I just… my other alternative isn’t that appealing right now,” she explained through a grimace.

Jughead hesitated for such a moment that Betty thought he might actually refuse her, arguably very reasonable, request. Finally, he nodded.

“Yeah, of course, just… I’ll need it back. The shirt,” he murmured, again rubbing at the back of his neck. A nervous habit, she gathered. Betty’s brows furrowed but she nodded quickly out of politeness; if she thought about it, she did see him in this particular shirt a lot, it seemed to be a favourite. She could understand the apprehension of loaning out a much-loved possession to a perfect stranger. Not that they could really be considered _complete_ strangers after the events that transpired last night, she mused with some chagrin.

“Right, of course. Well, I’ll just be…” she trailed off, motioning to the door. He nodded but didn’t say anything else as she slipped out into the hallway, heaving an exhausted sigh once she was leaning against the other side of the door.

 _This won’t be awkward_.

***

“I don’t know how to… broach the subject,” Betty squirmed, prodding at her salad with a plastic fork while ignoring Veronica’s efforts to bite back her amused smile.

“Just take the shirt to class and hand it over. I know you’ve already washed it because you’re _you_ , and it’s just sitting folded on your desk where you keep looking at it like some kind of bad omen,” Veronica quipped lightly, taking a sip of her coffee. Betty sighed, still mildly uncomfortable at the topic of conversation.

“It’s been three weeks though, and Jughead’s barely looked at me in class since. He even said specifically that he wanted the shirt back but he hasn’t said anything.” Betty set her lunch aside, fed up of picking at it aimlessly. “Also, I think the ten dollars that I put in my bra must have fallen out when we were… you know, and I didn’t see it before I left. Normally I’d just forget it but student debt and all,” she cringed. It was an awkward enough situation without adding a hand off of money into the mix. Betty groaned, flopping back dramatically onto her mattress.

“B, just text him or something. It’s honestly not that big of a deal,” Veronica told her with a roll of her eyes. “Unless you _like_ him,” she teased, drawing out the word like they were still in elementary school. Betty slid her eyes over to glare at the confident, dark-haired girl.

“Maybe it’s not a big deal for someone like _you._ I’m just really bad at dealing with situations like this. It should never have happened in the first place,” Betty chastised herself, still shuddering with embarrassment at the memories. She’d been the one to get them more drinks, suggest they walked back together, leaned in for that first kiss…

No, she didn’t want to dwell on it anymore. Clearly, even Jughead was too shamed by the whole event to even prod her for the return of his favourite shirt. “Besides, I don’t even have his number.”

“Then we’ll go old school! A note under the door, how 80s teen rom-com,” Veronica announced gleefully, clasping her hands together, mirth clear in her sparkling eyes.

“You’re the worst,” Betty groaned into her pillow. Veronica let out a chiming laugh, finding far too much glee in Betty’s predicament for her own liking.

“Don’t worry, B. The key to confidence is pretending you have more than you do,” she said wisely. _Easier said than done,_ Betty thought wearily.

***

“Crap!”

Betty was not one for oversleeping. In fact, she didn’t think she’d ever overslept a single day in her life. But she’d been up so late finishing up a paper for a particularly stringent professor that she’d forgotten to set her alarm for the following morning, let alone lay out her outfit before she went to bed like she usually did.

She hurried around the room, leaving a path of destruction in her wake as she grabbed items haphazardly, pulling on the first clothes she could lay her hands on before sprinting out of the door; she was still tugging her unbrushed hair into a ponytail as she sped out of the dorms and began making her way over to class.

It was this uncharacteristic morning routine that had her paying no mind to what she looked like, least of which what she was wearing, as she skidded into her _Science Fiction_ elective, a little more sweaty than she would have liked but still relatively on time, nonetheless.

Her frenzied heartrate and nervous panic began to subside as she waited for the class to begin, that was until her eyes met those of a rather startled looking Jughead Jones. And he wasn’t looking at her face either. Instead, his gaze was steadfastly focused on the shirt she was currently wearing.

Betty followed the direction of his gaze, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow her whole as she noticed the shirt she’d happened to grab off her desk during her mad dash was, in fact, his shirt – the one she’d still failed to return. That’s it, the world was definitely against her. She tried to summon up some of Veronica’s words of encouragement.

 _This is ridiculous_ , Betty thought with as much determination as she could muster, getting up and marching over to where Jughead sat before she could talk herself out of it.

“Jughead, look, I’ve been meaning to get your shirt back to you. I’ve had it washed and folded for weeks now, but when you didn’t say anything to me about it and we didn’t talk I didn’t really know how to bring it up. And I also left a ten dollar bill in your room that I didn’t know how to go about getting back because that would have just looked _great_ considering… well, just considering.” Jughead just blinked at her blankly as the words spilled out of her mouth. “And I was up late last night, and forgot to set my alarm – which never happens to me normally – and your shirt was the first thing I grabbed when I was getting dressed. I’m sorry, I know it’s your favourite and you want it back–”

“I don’t.” His sudden interruption startled her into silence.

“You… don’t what?” she asked slowly, regarding him with caution. He swallowed nervously, his cheeks turning a deep shade of crimson, a colour that Betty noted travelled all the way down his neck and disappeared inside his collar. It was kind of cute.

“I don’t want the shirt back. It… looks really good on you,” he confessed, sneaking a glance up at her face, his voice lowering to a pleasing octave.

“Oh,” she said somewhat bashfully, tugging at the soft, worn fabric. “Thank you, I guess,” she mumbled, unable to stop the smile spreading across her lips. When she looked up at him again she found him mirroring her expression.

“As for the ten dollars, how about I… I could buy you dinner?” he asked, unable to hide the slight tremor in his voice. “I had a good time the other night, Betty,” he admitted softly. Betty must have looked really taken aback because he hurried to continue. “Or not, whatever. You probably just want your cash,” he rambled, reaching into his pocket for his wallet.

Betty laid a gentle hand on his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. He looked up at her hopefully.

“I had a really good time, too,” she replied, realising that it was more than true once she’d said it. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that night, about the way he’d made her laugh, or the taste of his tongue as it swept along her teeth…

Which was why when she said “Dinner sounds great,” there was no hesitation in her voice.

 


End file.
